Page 82 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
He swept aside the objects on her desk. Scrolls, candlesticks and books clattered to the floor. With a roar of anguish he forced his body against the desk and tipped it over.
He pummeled the wood with his fists, crying hoarsely with each impact, not caring for the lacerations on his skin as he smashed his hands against it, forcing splinters into the skin of his fingers. Blood and battle consumed him, memories of the battlefield piled with bodies—the deaths he’d been powerless to prevent.
Then he lifted his head and roared out his anguish, shaking out the sobs which pulsed from his chest.
“Brother! This won’t help her.”
Edwin’s voice penetrated his grief and his sobs subsided, giving way to his nightmares, memories of friends and his fellow men broken on the battlefield. It would have been better hadhebeen killed at Hastings rather than them. Wildstorm would have passed to Edwin, and Edwin would have cherished her. His brother would have her the life she deserved—not the life she believed she had earned.
A woman’s stern voice recalled him from the darkness, returning him to the world—a world he longer wished to be part of.
“Indulging your grief like a petulant child will not help your wife, Harald of Wildstorm.”
The mother superior stood over him. Seemingly unperturbed by the destruction around her, she levelled her gaze at him, cool gray eyes showing wisdom far beyond that to which he could ever aspire.
“The actions of a child have no place in a world ruled by men.” The steel in the old woman’s voice belied her shriveled frame.
“I’m no child, old woman,” he said. “I am a man—a warrior.”
“Then prove your worth as a man,” she said. To yourself, to the Almighty—most of all, prove it to your wife.”
“She is lost.”
“There’s still hope,” Edwin said. “Don’t give up on her. I wouldn’t, if I were in your position.”
“If you were in my position, Eloise would not be lost,” Harald said. Edwin looked away, but not before Harald saw the accusation in his eyes.
“Come, brother,” he said. “I’ll help you find her.”
“I don’t deserve her, Edwin. I’m worse than Beauvisage. I was her husband. I should have protected her.”
“You still are her husband, brother, and she needs you now, more than ever.”
“How can I face her after what I’ve done?”
A fist swung in his direction and before he could move, pain exploded in his face and he fell backwards.
Edwin stood before him, face full of fury.
“You bastard!” he cried. “Her life is at stake, yet all you can think of is your pride? William gave you the greatest treasure in all Normandy—yet you’re not worthy to even look upon her! You have a duty to her, and I’ll fight to the death to ensure you fulfil it.”
“My lord, I must protest,” the old nun raised her voice in anger. “Would you blaspheme so in a house of God?”
“Forgive me, Mother.” Harald shook his head to dispel the tears moistening his eyes. He held out his hand to his brother.
“Edwin,” he pleaded. “Help me find her.”
Two arms encircled him as a mother might soothe a crying child.
“I’ll do everything in my power to help you,” Edwin said. “I know you love her, though perhaps, only now, you understand your heart.”
Harald closed his eyes and took comfort from the warmth of his brother’s arms.
Where was she? Beauvisage had spoken of his estate, but had never mentioned its name or location. It was clear now that he hadn’t wanted Harald to know of it. William would have granted him an estate…
William. The king had mentioned one of his barons when he’d visited. He’d mentioned in passing how he’d granted him a title, and an estate—but where?
He closed his eyes, reliving the conversation…
